


Daguerreotypes

by Jimlockian



Series: Mise-En-Scène [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Post Reichenbach, Sexual Content, Strangulation, johniarty, mormor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-02
Updated: 2013-06-02
Packaged: 2017-12-13 18:24:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/827403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jimlockian/pseuds/Jimlockian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to The Photograph - John chases after Jim, and ends up getting taken along for Jim and Sebastian's afternoon of amusement... Implied smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Daguerreotypes

**Author's Note:**

> Daguerreotype: “The surface of a daguerreotype is like a mirror, with the image made directly on the silvered surface; it is very fragile and can be rubbed off with a finger, and the finished plate has to be angled so as to reflect some dark surface in order to view the image properly. Depending on the angle viewed and the color of the surface reflected into it, the image can change from a positive to a negative..” (Wiki)
> 
> There is a Daguerreotype image of Poe on Sherlock's bedroom wall in the BBC series.
> 
> Credit to Doyle, Moffat, & Gatiss, no copyright infringement intended. Just having fun!

When Jim strolls out of the flat he conceals the shivering ache it gives him to walk away from such a great shagging. Upon entering the flat he had hoped for something, and more than a little something he had indeed. It amuses him to think that John was so enamored that he forgot the reason they had screwed in the first place – to find out where the photograph was taken. Jim supposed, though, that it is not that surprising, amusing, but not surprising. He is that good.  
  
With his smug grin in place he prepares to turn a corner, where Sebastian Moran is waiting for him. His getaway car would take them to another hotel for a bit of fun. Both were more amorous then usual, as they always got before another of Jim's business trips. A long few weeks overseas meant that poor Sebastian would be have to endure being alone, and that meant all the quickies they could get beforehand.  
  
Before Jim Moriarty can make it to the safety of yet another innocuous looking getaway car something hits him from behind with the force of a stampeding rhino, but remarkably more controlled so they do not tumble to the hard concrete. Jim had not heard John come up behind him, but there was no mistaking it as him now.

Jim might have laughed had the breath not been swept from him. John had only tackled him, but the force was more than enough to drive his breath away. He stumbles and is saved by John's hand on his shoulder, turning him around with a shocking amount of force that reminds Jim that his puppy-faced doctor has gone to war. The memory does not last long as John's curled fist sails into Jim's cheek. Everything else is knocked out of his head by the sudden onslaught.

By this point Sebastian Moran had grown too bored of waiting to flick through his phone anymore, and was tapping his fingers in a slow rhythm along the leather steering wheel. Waiting for another of Jim's sexcapdes is not a new part of the job – Sebastian considers the maniacal Irishman to be a 'manipulative little fucker, but one hell of a genius.'  
  
As Moran glances up he catches a glimpse of Jim's finely attired little body and reaches for the ignition, but instead Jim's face dips out of view and all Sebastian sees is a touch of his back. Jerky movement. Instantly he knows someone is knocking the stuffing from Jim and he throws the driver's side door open. Sebastian ignores the squeal of paint being torn from the car door as he slaps it against the alley wall in his haste to get to Jim.

When Sebastian comes upon the scene John has already given Jim a belligerent pounding to the face and stomach in spite of his speedy arrival. John's normally passive features contort with rage, a dark look brought to his face. Moriarty is taking the fight without much resistance – and if Sebastian had stopped to think he may have realized Jim wanted to see if John could push him up against the wall.  
  
Instead, though, Sebastian wedges his prominent height between Jim and John for an effective blockade. John lands a single punch on him before stumbling back – angry or not he was directing it at Moriarty, not this stranger he had never met before.

Because Moriarty... John could not explain it. He had been standing in the flat, staring at the photograph, and suddenly began seething. He, John Watson, had slept with James Moriarty, right after seeing evidence that Sherlock is not dead. Knowing how good Sherlock's nemesis made him feel shamed him. The oddest betrayal, something that Moriarty crafted and executed himself.  
  
That stung worse than a wasp down his throat – knowing Moriarty had lubed himself up beforehand only meant he was waiting for it, that he knew John would give in. Another sociopath, psychopath, or whatever Jim was – John could not keep track or care right now. All that mattered was that he, not-gay John Watson, had succumbed to some horrible sex-demon.  
  
People in the supermarket that yell are the ones that let out their anger in short bursts. John is not such a person. He is more the sort that waits, and waits, then implodes, letting out such rage the likes of which result in destruction, and likely ban him from the store, instead of merely getting a few stares. John's abrupt attack on Moriarty is his implosion – for the mind games, for making him enjoy it, for everything, and then it hits John. The entire point of the sickening affair – and that was why he threw on trousers and ran out the door; Anything to find Sherlock, and to let that torrent of fury channel into something more productive than remaining in the flat, alone.

Moriarty is wincing yet still sneering with his bloodstained teeth, peering around Sebastian with wide, intrigued eyes. He likes watching John flushed and panting.

“You said you'd tell me where you got it!” John shouts at him with all the ire of a mother bear protecting her cubs.  
  
“Boss?” Moran mumbles under his breath, well aware of Jim's ability to hear him at that volume whether his ears were ringing or not. Sebastian knows the madman's physical limits, having pushed quite a few himself. Though there is one area he will not push and that is the job, so he waits for orders.  
  
“Put him in the car.” Moriarty replies dryly without hesitation.  
  
John tries to fight, but Sebastian has strength. It impresses Jim to watch the two scuttling, for even with his lacking height John can stand his own. When John nearly flips Sebastian and the man lets out a woof of air, Jim feels a tingle of arousal in his belly. They both try getting each other in a headlock at the same time and Jim cannot help but idly think that this would be far better without their clothes. “I do want him in the car.” He mutters impatiently.

Sebastian delivers a knockout punch to John's gut, catching the man before he hits the ground. He looks to Jim's coolly raised brow and nods, “I knew you'd want his face untouched, sir.”

* * *

 

  
John squirms a little as he wakes and tries to sit up but his body is throbbing dully. The pain is at its worst in his hand, which is what triggers him to recall the fight. Quickly, pain or not, he is sitting up and taking in his surroundings. Bland, cheap but clean wallpaper.. A desk with a chair in the corner, and a television across from him. The bed he lay on newly made and rather soft. A single portrait of a landscape scene. The phone on the bedside table had various buttons labeled things like Housekeeping and Front Desk, which, along with the cheap furniture and lack of personable touches, assured John he is now in a hotel room.  
  
The doctor picks up the phone but finds it dead. Not surprising, he supposes, before realizing that a balcony door is opening and the short, dark haired villain steps inside. Moriarty loosens his tie as he stares down at the militant doctor, who scrambles and stiffens.

“What do you want?” John growls out in a low voice.  
  
“What do you want?” Jim parrots him playfully, smirking a little. His lips are bruised, and the dark beginnings of more coagulate under his skin. “You followed me..” Continues Jim in an even more flirting tone.  
  
“You -” John wants to scream and slap him but only stands up from the bed, “You dragged me here!”

“I was going to leave, but you followed me.” The Irish loon takes a melodic singsong to his voice. He is relaxed, impassively aloof as ever and not showing signs of post-fight pains. John is still wincing himself and he shakes out his punching-hand to help while staring incredulously. All he had wanted was an answer – an answer that Jim had earlier agreed to give if John gave Jim his body. John is kicking himself for getting debased, and liking it so much that he forgot why he agreed in the first place. Forgot.. Sherlock.

John had gotten the best news he could – the news he desperately hope for months – and immediately screwed his best friend's nemesis. As ignominious as that is, John still blames Jim in part; For knowing where Sherlock is and not telling him. For knowing Sherlock was, no is, alive, for God knows how long. For being alive himself. There are so many things John wants to scream at Jim Moriarty.  
  
Instead he settles on the only one that matters, “Where's Sherlock?”  
  
“Still so touchingly loyal..” Jim shakes his head, his bemusement unseating John's harsher emotions while he is trying to bottle them up again. He rushes at Jim and grabs him by the shirt collar, slamming his back against the wall.

Instead of replying, he stares John down with his gorgeous dark eyes and the smallest hint of an impervious smile on his face.  
  
John shakes him a little, already knowing from the look on Jim's face that he is not going to say much. This man holds all the cards and keeps them to himself to make them all dance like puppets for his amusement.

John Watson, for the first time in his life, moves against another human being for his own sake, wrapping his fingers around Moriarty's throat. John has killed before, but it was for Queen and country, and once for Sherlock Holmes. Never for the bruising of his own soul, until now.

Jim parts his lips but does not try and speak, still holding back. His wild eyes are enjoying this, and even while gasping for breath the corners of his lips flick upward in pleasure.

John feels the man struggle involuntarily but Moriarty is otherwise still, willing to be backed against the wall and throttled. John can feel the tight windpipe beneath his thumbs, pressing down without applying enough pressure to collapse them. He squeezes harder and watches the milky whites of Jim's wide eyes turn almost luminescent.  
  
“He likes that.” Says a gruff voice behind John, startling him. John had honestly forgotten that another man had been involved in their scuffle. He lets go of Moriarty in order to turn around, spotting the man who had attacked him in defense of Moriarty – a tall sinewy stranger rubbing his bright blond hair with a towel.

Jim is gasping for breath between coughs while John surveys Sebastian, trying to decide whether to fight him or start running for the door. The sex and shocks to John's system seem to have numbed the speed of his fight or flight response. Before John can consider the well built man any further Jim lunges on him from behind, spinning John around to lay a forceful kiss on his lips.

Once Jim had gotten enough breath back, he jumped John eagerly. His fetish for strangulation made John's attack more like foreplay and the devilish rouge was already feeling the blooming of an erection. To his amusement John tries dislodging him, and each time Jim goes back in for more. He growls quietly when John pushes him back, nearly knocking heads in his attempts to bite John's lips. When the doctor pushes again, Jim keeps his bite down and yanks painfully on John's lips.

“Will you stop!” John shouts while grabbing hold of fidgety hips, pinning Jim to the wall only to have the man use his slender strength to flip them and grind their hips together. Ignoring the flush with an angry look that John's giving him, Jim nestles against the man and starts to nip at his neck.

At first John's hands hold firm and he pushes Jim away, impressed with the slighter man's strength that is just enough to leave them at an impasse. The lap of tongue and teeth against his throat decreases the pressure of his hands until little by little he relaxes against the wall and submits to Jim's advances willingly. Though John does groan out with a desperation that is not sensual, “Just tell me..”  
  
“Oh I don't know, John..” Jim whispers teasingly, sucking John's lobe into his mouth and rolling his tongue over it. He pulls the appendage between his teeth and grinds them back and forth. The spit covered skin feels cool when Jim pulls away, and John is both relieved and driven to shiver when that small Irish tongue flicks over his lobe again.

John sighs at the thought of finding Sherlock Holmes alive, and a little at that stimulating touch. He already knows what Moriarty can do, and how unwilling the manipulative psychopath is to talk. In a sudden burst of genius or irrationality, only time would tell, John flips Jim over and pins him against the wall with a bruising harsh kiss. Fight fire with fire – and if Jim would not talk in anger, maybe he would in bed.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments & kudos are love.!  
> 


End file.
